


My Love is on the High Seas

by Valeria2067



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hope, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:56:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight was just part of his cover: A tourist, distant cousin of the owners. But he’d come close to breaking character when a young woman had begun to sing a simple, haunting melody and heart-wrenching, familiar words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love is on the High Seas

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Mi amor está en las mareas altas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/888692) by [randomsociopath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomsociopath/pseuds/randomsociopath)



    [[audio](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=huJ46vcBxFg)]

    Feasgar ciùin an tùs a’ Chèitein   _On a quiet evening at the beginning of May_

    Nuair bha ‘n ialtag anns na speuran    _When the bat was in the skies_

    Chualaim rìbhinn òg ‘s i deurach  _I heard a tearful young maiden_

    ‘Seinn fo sgàil nan geugan uain’    _Singing beneath the shadow of the green branches_

    Bha a’ ghrian ‘sa chuan gu sìoladh     _The sun was setting in the sea_

    ‘S reult cha d’ èirich anns an iarmailt     _And no stars yet graced the sky_

    Nuair a sheinn an òigh gu cianail     _When the young girl sang sorrowfully_

    “Tha mo ghaol air àird a’ chuain”    _”My love is on the high seas”_

—

Sherlock took a sip from the half-full pint in front of him. He swallowed slowly, thoughtfully.

One week at most. It was nearly done.

And even here, in the relative calm of a small pub not far from Edinburgh, he felt his heart straining against his ribcage like a frantic bird seconds away from its freedom.

He wouldn’t make his final move tonight, but it would be only a matter of days. Tonight was just part of his cover: A tourist, distant cousin of the owners, here to see the centuries-old gravestones in the local churchyard.

But he’d come close to breaking character when a young woman had begun to sing a simple, haunting melody and heart-wrenching, familiar words.

This song. He knew this song. Scottish Gaelic - John had sung it once, just once, the time Sherlock was suffering a high fever AND nicotine withdrawals simultaneously.  Something he’d used to calm wounded soldiers in Afghanistan, John had said. “You’re too far gone to remember later, thank God. I’d never hear the end of it. Just lie still. Just listen.”

They’d never mentioned it again, but the moment Sherlock recovered, he’d looked up the song, downloaded a version, and committed it to memory.

Soon, when he returned to John, returned to London and life, returned to the one place he considered home, he would tell John how often that song had been the one source of calm and strength in the most harrowing moments.

And then he’d sing it for John. Just for John.

 

     Bha a cridh’ le gaol gu sgàineadh     _Her heart was breaking with love_

     Nuair a ghlac mi fhèin air làimh i     _When I took her by the hand_

   **“Siab do dheòir, do ghaol tha sàbhailt _“Wipe your eyes, your love is safe_**

**      Thill mi slàn bhàrr àird a’ chuain”    _I have returned to you from the high seas”_ **

 

He’d sing it very soon. 


End file.
